I’m stealing this subject line from David Lebovitz, the funny, smart, worldly blogger who writes from Paris about life and food and cooking and things in France and other places. http://www.davidlebovitz.com/2013/02/things-im-liking/
He’s liking small cassoulet bowls, a variety of oils, buckwheat cookies…
Here in Chicago I’m liking the service — from booking the reservation to my coat handed back to me at the end our meal — and the Dark and Stormy cocktail at Gather, an American bistro at 4539 N. Lincoln Avenue, in Lincoln Square. I liked the vibe, too: noisy but not loud, chic, un-fussy. Also our darling waitress, who advised us well, especially on a red wine that would pair with seafood, oxtail, and a mushroom pasta. (A Zinfandel from Storybook Vineyard.) My one gripe: entrees are the size of an appetizer, which left the two men at the table looking around for the rest of their dinner. http://www.gatherchicago.com/
Also in Chicago I’m liking the view — a swath of Millennium Park, and its reflective bean — from Henri, a jewel of a French restaurant at 18 S. Michigan Avenue. I appreciated the gracious service, brown velvet walls, nicely spaced tables, and the tiny raw quail egg emptied over my steak tartare. (Thanks for the treat, Dino.) www.henrichicago.com/
The view from Sixteen, in the Trump Tower, will take your breath away. (401 N. Wabash Ave.) The price of their lunch will, too: $35 for two items, $46 for three, $57 for four. Portions are small; the service phony. We were one of a handful of filled tables; now we know why.
I’m heading to La Fournette for a midday meal with my friend Suzanne. I’m liking everything about that sentence. La Fournette is a French bakery and cafe at 1547 N. Wells Street, walking distance from my Old Town home. I’ll order a latte, plus chaud (necessary after a 15 minute walk in 15 degree weather.) Soup? Tartine? Quiche? I’ll let you know. http://lafournette.com/
In books, I was liking a lot until the last few chapters Jami Attenberg’s “The Middlesteins.†So much to like! Edie Herzen Middlestein is eating herself to death in the suburbs of Chicago. After nearly 40 years together, husband Richard has left her, infuriating daughter Robin, who has drinking/boyfriend/religion problems, and son Benny, who gets high every night in his suburban back yard with wife Rachelle, who’s planning their twins B’nai Mitzvah. (Chocolate fountain, or no?) So rich, so sharp, so wise, so funny. Why did I lose interest? Too many narrators.
Finally, I’m liking the dramatic start to my day, walking my dog in Lincoln Park. From the far side of the boardwalk a woman, also walking her dog, waving her arms and yelling: “Coyote! On the island! Be Careful!â€